


How to Romance a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent in Three Easy Steps

by abstractconcept



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Capsicoul - Freeform, Dating, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson doesn’t know whether they’re dating or not, but he’s sure as hell not going to jeopardize this by questioning it. Could be read as a sequel to <i><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/412697">Five Times Steve Waited for Agent Coulson to Wake Up and the One Time He Finally Did.</a></i><a id="cutid1" name="cutid1"></a></p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Romance a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent in Three Easy Steps

****

How to Romance a S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent in Three Easy Steps

“This is fun,” Steve remarked. “I haven’t been to a baseball game in . . . well, _years_.”

Phil’s smile turned just a little sardonic. _Watching a real live baseball game with Captain America . . . the only way I could possibly feel more patriotic is if you stuck a firework up my—_

“I’m gonna get another dog. Can I get you a beer or something while I’m up?” Steve looked at him hopefully.

“Sure. Thanks.” For the next few minutes, Phil’s eyes followed Steve rather than the game. _God bless Levi Strauss_ , he thought with a sigh. He could hardly believe his luck. Not only was Captain America alive and well, but here he was, spending his day off with Phil Coulson.

Phil arranged his face into a bright smile and stood as Steve came back. “Here.” Steve handed him his beer, and Phil sucked in a breath as the man scooted past him. For just a moment they were chest to chest. Steve gave him a crooked smile. Phil tried not to flush. He wasn’t sure how successful he was. Then Steve shuffled past, and Phil could breathe again.

Phil spent the next twenty minutes with the cup pressed to his lips. If he was busy drinking, his mouth would be occupied, and perhaps then he wouldn’t say anything stupid or inappropriate. One could dream, anyway.

“Wow, you’re really going through that. You want another one?”

“I’m good, thank you.” Phil quickly set the cup by his feet. God, all he needed was to get a buzz. He’d end up plastered all over Steve like a cheap suit and humiliate himself again.

“You’re sure?” Steve asked innocently. For a fraction of a second Phil wondered if the man was trying to get him drunk.

He dismissed the thought; he crumpled it up and tossed it in the waste-bin of his mind. It was unworthy. For one thing, Captain America was as honest as the day was long. He was forthright and uncomplicated, and he had no reason to get Phil Coulson drunk.

Unless he was trying to . . . no. That was ridiculous. Steve wouldn’t take advantage of him and, Phil had to admit, he wouldn’t have to. Steve was a good guy. He’d never ply anyone with alcohol just to get them in the mood.

“I’m good,” Phil replied all the same. “But thanks. Thank you. It was nice of you to offer. You’re really . . . it’s really generous of you. To ask me to the game and all.” _Damn it._ If he had his service weapon on him just then, he’d have shot himself in the foot, just to prevent himself from sticking it in his mouth again.

But the Captain just smiled his sunny smile and turned back to the game. “Well, the seats were a gift from the Mayor. I hoped you liked baseball.”

“I do. I definitely do.” And he did, but Phil couldn’t keep his mind on the game, not with the gorgeous Steve Rogers right next to him, their knees occasionally bumping, making Phil’s heart flutter.

Steve looked around. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

It was. It was sunny and golden with a hint of freshly mown grass in the wind, and Captain America sitting right there, smiling his dazzling smile. Sometimes Phil couldn’t believe he hadn’t actually died on that operating table after Loki impaled him. This was closer to heaven than anything Phil Coulson had ever dreamt. And Steve Rogers had asked him out! Not on a date, exactly, just—to a ballgame. As friends. But Phil would take it. “Beautiful,” he agreed.

Steve stretched, spreading his arms out, one reaching around Phil. Phil tried to ignore this, hoping he wouldn’t turn into a stammering idiot. He kept his eyes very carefully glued to the field, where Baxter was up to bat. Phil felt Steve’s arm touching his shoulders, warm and strong and—

_Pop!_

“Hey! _Homerun!_ ” Phil shot to his feet, knocking over his plastic cup and spilling the rest of his beer, escaping the panicky, heart-pounding excitement of Steve’s pseudo-embrace. “How about that?” He turned to Steve, mustering a smile.

Steve’s expression was hard to read. “Oh. _Oh._ That’s great. Um, you want another beer?” He nodded to the empty cup rolling around by their feet.

“Whoops. No, I probably shouldn’t,” Phil replied, taking his seat. “But thanks.” He turned his attention back to the field and tried to stop imagining Steve’s arm around him.

After the game, Phil saw the Captain safely home. Steve unlocked the door and opened it. He looked at Phil and smiled.

“That was—that was fun. It was really great,” Phil stammered.

“Yes, it was,” Steve agreed. This time his smile was softer—shyer than Phil was used to. Phil didn’t even know what to do with that.

“Thank you. For inviting me along.”

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Something was definitely different. The man had been more confident earlier. Now he seemed to be searching Phil’s eyes for something and not finding it. “Yeah. Well. Thanks for . . . saying yes,” Steve said.

“I should go,” Phil finally said.

“Are you sure? You could . . . I could make a pot of coffee,” Steve suggested.

Phil almost laughed. Him—in Steve Rogers' apartment, sitting next to his hero, and the guy would offer him stimulants. He was already overexcited by being so close to the man; another five minutes and a pot of coffee and he’d be in there going, “Oh, my _God_ , this is Captain America’s _couch_ and this is Captain America’s _chair_ and these are Captain America’s _forks_ and this is where Captain America _sleeps_ . . .” He could feel his face heat up and he cleared his throat. “I should go,” he said.

Steve looked disappointed. “Sure. Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“I’d like that.” Phil was proud of himself. All those years of training had taken over to allow him one split second of dignity around his hero. “Anytime. Anywhere. Name the place and I’m there. I’m your man,” he blurted. So much for dignity.

But Steve seemed to be encouraged by this, his smile brightening. “Good. Next Friday night. Unless you have plans. Maybe out fighting—fighting terrorists or aliens?”

Phil laughed ruefully. “As much as I’d like that, I don’t see any dangerous assignments in my foreseeable future. And Fury won’t issue me anything any heavier than a pen.” Not that _that_ would have stopped him. A pen could be a deadly enough weapon, especially if you had the wherewithal to jab it in someone’s eye, which Phil had done once in the early eighties in Argentina. But Fury wasn’t allowing him to go to Argentina or anywhere else.

“Good,” Steve said. “Next weekend. We’ll . . . we’ll get together,” he said.

“Sure,” Phil replied.

Then Steve leaned in, and Phil’s pulse went wild. They shared an awkward, panicked dance, each man trying to figure out what the other was doing. Phil tried to shake the man’s hand, and Steve tried to get closer than that, and they ended up doing a clumsy half-hug.

“Well, drive safely,” Steve muttered when they pulled away.

“Yeah,” Phil replied. He fled down the hall and jabbed the button for the elevator twice.

It wasn’t until he was back on the ground floor that he felt he could relax.

What the hell had just happened?

***

It hadn’t been a date, Phil told himself as he drove away. It couldn’t have been a date, because . . . because . . . okay, so he didn’t have any good reason to think it hadn’t been a date. Except for the fact that God was not usually that benevolent.

He barely saw the traffic around him, barely noticed the stop-and-go and brake lights everywhere. His mind was churning. Just for a split second, he had really thought Captain America was going to kiss him. And then he had to go and ruin it like an idiot, thinking the man meant to shake his hand.

Phil shook his head. Steve Rogers hadn’t really been thinking of kissing him, had he?

But Phil had to admit that there _was_ precedent. When he’d woken in that hospital bed after surgery, Steve had been sitting beside him—and had kissed him. It had been wonderful, but brief, and Phil was sure the man was just overjoyed to see him alive.

Phil was sure that had been a momentary aberration. Captain America wasn’t interested in men. And even if he had been there was no reason for him to be attracted to Phil Coulson. Phil had just read the situation wrong. The guy was trying to be nice. Friendly. It was a friendly gesture Phil had somehow misinterpreted, that had to be it.

Steve wasn’t interested in Phil. He’d just tried to give him a handshake or a hug or a pat on the back. That was all.

There was nothing romantic about the encounter outside of Phil’s fevered imagination, and that was that. Steve had taken him to a ballgame, for crying out loud. What was romantic about baseball and beer? They were just two guys, hanging out and being guys. That was all Steve was interested in.

***

Phil looked around the restaurant. The lights were dim, set back in sconces on the walls. The wood was dark but polished to a sheen. The tables were cozy, each separated in their own little nooks. It was . . . intimate. It was romantic as all get out, as a matter of fact, but Phil would rather die than point it out. Steve probably picked the place because of the steaks. They did great steaks here. “This is nice.”

“Yeah. Not too shabby.”

Phil waited for Steve to say something else, but that was it. Well, Steve was a man of few words. A man of action. That was what Phil liked best about him, right? Just . . . sometimes, Phil wished he didn’t have to carry the whole conversation. “That was a great game the other day.”

“Yeah. That last inning—that was something. I’m really happy you came with me.”

“I’m glad to go. Anytime. I love it. I mean, baseball. Watching baseball. With you.” Phil cleared his throat and took a drink of his martini. _Damn it._ Why couldn’t he keep it together?

“Who had the steak?” Their food had arrived, and Phil felt a deep sense of relief. He was glad to be having dinner with Steve—hell, he was _ecstatic_ that Steve liked having dinner with him—but they seemed to have only two speeds; dead silence, and Phil making a complete ass out of himself. Stuffing his face would be a welcome interruption.

“They have the best food here,” Phil said.

Steve grinned. “Yeah. And good atmosphere.”

“And good cocktails, too.”

Steve nodded, his mouth full of food. His eyes, though, his eyes twinkled at Phil. He didn’t have a lot to say, but right now his eyes said he was relaxed and content. It made Phil feel a bit better—a little less strung out.

It was hard hanging around the world’s hunkiest hero and trying to act cool and make normal conversation. Somehow, Phil managed.

When dinner ended, Phil drove Steve home once more. “That was great,” he said in front of Steve’s apartment. “Thanks again for inviting me.”

Steve leaned in, resting one arm on the car door. “I’m glad you came.” He bit his lip and looked uncertain. “You . . . uh . . . want to come up for a nightcap? Or something?”

But the dash on Phil’s car was already blinking; Fury needed something. “No, thanks,” Phil replied, distracted. “Duty calls. Besides, it would be a bit—it would be difficult finding a parking space around here, anyway.”

“Sure,” Steve said, backing off, wiping his hands on his trousers. For just a moment, he looked glum. But Steve, of all people, understood that the job came first. Then, his expression lightened. “Next time, I’ll drive,” he offered.

“Yeah.” Phil nodded. “Definitely. Next time.”

Steve shut the door and Phil drove off. He could see the man in his rearview mirror, staring after him. He still wasn’t sure why Steve was spending so much time with him, but he didn’t care. A couple of months ago he’d thought he’d breathed his last. Now every moment not spent in a grave was a gift, and if that gift came wrapped with a big red, white and blue bow, so much the better.

Phil grinned as he drove away. Steve had said next time he would drive. There was going to be a _next time._ He could hardly wait.

***

“I hope you don’t mind.”

Steve was wearing a bomber jacket and aviator glasses, straddling his motorbike and looking like a forties heartthrob, and he had the nerve to ask Phil whether he minded? He had no idea what he was doing to Phil. And the doctors had told him not to overexert himself, too. He thought his heart might just pound its way right out of his chest. Phil stood, rooted to the sidewalk, staring at the man dreamily. “It’s fine.”

“You can put your arms around me. I mean—you know—if that would make you feel safer.” Steve looked at Phil expectantly.

Phil shook his head a little to clear the fog. “Yes, please. I mean, no. I mean, I’m not worried; I’m sure you’re a good driver. It’s fine. The bike is fine.” He got on behind Steve, putting his arms around the man not because he was at all scared (a motorcycle did not even register a blip on Phil’s Oh-God-We’re-All-Going-to-Die scale, though power-mad aliens had just made the list) but because he was pretty sure at some point he was going to swoon and he’d end up a speed bump in the road if he didn’t anchor himself.

To _Captain America._

Phil cast his eyes skyward and muttered a brief prayer of gratitude masked by the revving engine. First a ballgame, then dinner, an invitation to Steve’s apartment, and now here he was, arms wrapped around the man. If all of Phil’s dreams kept coming true at this pace they’d have two kids, a dog and a house with a picket fence by Tuesday.

Unfortunately, the bliss was short-lived as the bowling alley was only a short ride away. Steve grinned as Phil got off the bike. “Ready for some fun?”

Bowling was not Phil’s idea of fun. But what the hell; how miserable could he possibly be with Steve at his side? “Sure. Sounds great.”

“You got your own shoes?” Steve asked when they got inside. The place was dim, dingy, and full of potbellied beer-drinkers, raucous teenagers, and waitresses with too much eye-makeup.

“My own shoes?” Phil repeated. He turned to Steve, trying to mask his consternation. “No, I don’t. Do you?”

“Yeah.” Steve held his up by the laces with a grin, like he’d just caught himself a prize trout. Phil stared. Steve _bowled._ Of his own free will. Phil must have had a peculiar look on his face, because Steve laughed. “It’s not that bad. Really. And I like it here,” he added, lowering both the shoes and his voice. “Everyone treats me like a normal guy.”

As if on cue, someone in the background shouted, “Yo, Stevie! We bowlin’ or what?”

Steve gave the guy a wave. “That’s Joey. And this is Vinny,” he added, introducing Phil to the guy behind the sales counter. “Vinny will get you some shoes.”

“Thanks,” Phil said. “Size eleven, please.” Vinny handed him a pair of shoes, red and blue, scuffed all to hell, and about fifty years old. _They’re going to be touching my hundred dollar Bresciani silk socks,_ he thought with an inward shudder. “Thanks,” he repeated in a weak voice. He steeled his resolve. He’d hunted fugitives through sewers; he knew he could always buy new socks. He told himself that bowling shoes were not that big a deal.

Steve squeezed his shoulder. “This will be fun,” he assured Phil again. “They’re good people.”

Steve introduced him around to his bowling buddies. There was Joey and Donna, Eddie, his girlfriend Pat, Jody, a twenty-something with pink hair and retro-chic horn-rim glasses, her girlfriend Debbie, and about six kids of various ages that Phil couldn’t keep straight, who kept popping up asking for change for the arcade.

“Here, I think I’ve got a ten. You kids go get some change and _stay outta our hair for five minutes, Jesus!_ ” Pat fished some money out of her purse. She turned to Phil. “You’re Steve’s guy, huh? Mind if I smoke?” She didn’t wait for him to say yes, popping a cigarette in her mouth and snapping her lighter. “You wanna join a team? We’re thinkin’ about getting a team together.” She blew out a long stream of blue smoke and Phil tilted his head away. “Friday nights, regular.”

“I’ll think about that,” he said.

Pat eyed him a long moment, lips pursed around the cigarette. “How long have you known Steve? We’ve been nagging him to bring you around.”

“Awhile,” Phil answered. He was watching Joey take his turn and was relieved to discover the guy wasn’t very good. He’d been a bit worried he’d look like a fool; he hadn’t been bowling since he was about fifteen. But these guys weren’t pros; they were obviously just a group of blue-collar friends letting off steam and having a good time.

“You want anything to eat?” Steve had popped up behind him, leaning over Phil’s shoulder and short-circuiting his brain. “Nachos?”

“Sure. Thanks.”

Steve’s face lit up. “I’ll be right back.” Phil watched him go, feeling puzzled. He wasn’t sure why Steve was so excited over nachos, but hey, whatever made him happy made Phil happy, too.

Jody leaned over. “He likes helping people,” she explained, seeing Phil’s expression. “It’s a thing. You need somebody to help you move? Steve will help you move. I moved apartments last month and Steve moved me out, practically all by himself. He likes to be useful.”

“This is true,” Phil observed.

“He’s a nice guy.” Jody leaned back and sipped her beer.

“Also true.” Phil half-smiled agreeably.

“So don’t hurt him.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean. He’s like a big puppy. And he’s kind of . . . old fashioned sometimes, but he’s real sweet. We all like him, and we’re kind of protective, you know?” Jody gave him a significant look.

“Of course.” Phil supposed that wasn’t too surprising; Steve really was a kind person and that came through. And once you got to know him, and if you understood what he’d gone through and the losses he’d endured, it did inspire you to feel a bit protective of him. Phil took a sip of his beer as well, relaxing a little as he watched Debbie bowl a 7-10 split.

It was more fun than he’d anticipated. Everyone was laid back and no one had any expectations of him. And because they didn’t know he was recovering from a brush with death, no one coddled him or cautioned him, insisted he use a lighter ball, or insisted he was too fragile when it was his turn. He could definitely see why Steve enjoyed this kind of thing on occasion.

“Got your nachos.” Steve held the little box up in front of Coulson. “You can’t eat near the lanes, though,” he added apologetically.

“That’s okay.” Phil got up and followed him back toward the arcade. “Pat’s up next, anyway. Thank you for these. And for taking me out. You’re right; I _am_ having a better time than I expected.” Phil drew out a tortilla chip, sodden with cheap nacho cheese, and popped it in his mouth. Again, it wasn’t his usual fare, but any cuisine eaten in the presence of Captain America counted as delicious in Phil’s book.

“I’m really glad you’re having a good time. I worried a little.” Steve gave him a smile. “But I knew you would come around.” He waited patiently for Phil to swallow, then leaned forward and—well—there was just no other word for it— _kissed_ him.

Phil stared straight ahead, unblinking and unthinking. It took a few moments before his brain started working again. That was definitely a kiss. Full on the mouth and everything. Lips puckered. Gentle, but with enough pressure and purpose that it couldn’t have been anything else.

“Are you all right?” Steve was looking at him with concern.

“Yes.” Phil blinked a little. “I just—well, to be honest, that was a little unexpected.” He looked at Steve evenly. “Did you _mean_ to do that?”

“What, kiss you?” Steve laughed. “You mean, did I mean to blow my nose and somehow accidentally kissed you instead? No, I meant to do that.” He looked suddenly unsure. “Was it that bad?”

“No! No. Like I said, it was merely . . . unexpected.” Phil swallowed. A few short moments ago the world made sense. Now up was down and right was left and he didn’t know what to do. He just couldn’t wrap his head around what had just happened. He wondered if he was going into shock. Maybe he should lie down and elevate his legs. _Yes, that would surely be the suavest possible response to the situation_ , he thought wryly. He looked at Steve. “ _Why_ did you kiss me?”

“Because that’s what people _do_ on dates. Eventually. I thought.” Steve was looking more uncertain by the moment.

Despite the fact that Steve Rogers had just kissed him, Phil found he was still capable of being surprised even further. A _date?_ “I didn’t realize this was supposed to be a date,” he blurted.

Steve looked astonished. “What?”

Phil blew out a breath. “I—I—sorry, I just wouldn’t have expected—I mean, I guess I just wouldn’t have expected you to suddenly be overcome by romantic feelings while I was eating nachos. It took me by surprise.”

“I wasn’t _suddenly_ overcome. It’s not like this was even our first date!” Steve was staring to get upset.

“What do you mean, this wasn’t our first date?” Phil stared at him and the pieces began to fall into place. Jesus. Jesus, Steve Rogers _had_ been interested in him. And Phil had kept writing the idea off just because it seemed so improbable, too good to be true.

Steve wrung his hands together. “Well—well—I took you to dinner, and there was the game, and—hell, I even kissed you before,” he pointed out. “You know. In the hospital. I thought that would have been a pretty obvious sign of romantic interest.”

“You thought I was dead. And then I wasn’t. And . . . I thought you were being nice.”

“I like to think I _am_ nice. But I don’t go around kissing people to show it.” Steve threw his hands up in an exasperated sort of way. “I thought Tony was dead once, and I never kissed _him._ I don’t run around kissing people willy-nilly just because they happen to not be dead, you know.”

“Oh.” Phil couldn’t seem to think of anything else to say. Steve had first taken him out to a ballgame almost than a month ago. He’d been dating Captain America for almost a _month_ —and he didn’t even know it! “Oh. _Wow._ ” He was going to need a paper bag to breathe into.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you didn’t—you weren’t—I—sorry.” Steve let out a shaky breath and was silent a long moment.

“Wow,” was all Phil could mutter. He rubbed his forehead. He’d been dating Captain America. He’d gone to dinner with Captain America. Captain America had kissed him. The future unfurled in his mind; calling his mother and saying, “Yes, of course Steve and I will be there for Christmas dinner; we’ll bring the green bean casserole,” and showing up at S.H.I.E.L.D.’s big New Year’s bash with Steve on his arm, taking Steve up to his condo in Aspen for a weekend of skiing and cozying up by the fire . . .

“I deeply apologize for not making my intentions clear,” Steve said in a monotone. His whole body was tense, his face pale. “I won’t expect you to go out with me again.”

“What do you mean?” Phil blinked a little.

“If you would—prefer to be friends, I can accept that. I wasn’t trying to force you into something you don’t want,” Steve explained. His face was carefully blank, the very picture of a leader, a man in control. And Phil realized it was masking a lot of pain. He wondered how many other people knew Steve well enough to read that.

“Are you out of your mind? I’m already writing the wedding invitations in my head,” Phil joked.

The mask wavered. “Really?” Steve’s smile was shy, crooked, hopeful.

“That might be getting ahead of myself, but I’m crazy about you. And . . . I’ve really enjoyed the time we’ve spent together over the past few weeks. But really, Steve . . . _bowling? That_ was your idea of a romantic outing? And you spring a first kiss on me when I’m eating _nachos?_ ”

Steve shrugged helplessly “What was I supposed to do? I’m no good at this. When I sit down and try to think about how to show you what I feel, I just go blank. I _tried_ to show you. I tried to get close to you; tried to put an arm around you, invite you up for drinks. I didn’t know how to be more obvious. I thought you just wanted to take things slow,” he added in a small voice.

Phil could hardly believe it. If only he’d had a bit more self-confidence, this day could have come much earlier. Maybe it was time for him to step it up. He smiled. Now that he knew where he stood, he was going to give this his all. “That’s okay. I’ll show you how to sweep someone off their feet.” Phil took the man by his plaid shirt, yanked him forward and kissed Steve hard, one hand cupping that beautiful, square jaw, kissed him like he’d always dreamed of doing. Right in front of all the boozed up bowlers and aging waitresses, not caring whether they were disgusted by it or not.

To his surprise, there were cheers. Jody even wolf-whistled.

“Aw, jeez. Get a room, you two,” Joey groaned.

Well, if that was the worst response they’d face tonight, Phil would take it. They’d have other detractors as well, of course, but it was nice to have one night with only a token grumble of disapproval.

Steve looked at Phil, his eyes shining with something like pride, like he was glad to show Phil off to his friends. Phil felt a rush of gratitude and affection and absolute joy, and for a moment he just stood there, staring at the man, allowing himself to feel as giddy as a lovesick teenager. Then he kissed Steve again, curling his hand round the back of the man’s neck, holding him in place. Steve tilted his head compliantly. He melted into the kiss, learning quickly, arms circling Phil’s waist.

“Wow,” Steve breathed when they finally broke apart. He grinned. “I promise, from now on, you’ll never doubt that I’m interested in you.”

Phil smiled. “What do you say we cut short the bowling and head home for the night?” he murmured.

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Do you really want to?” His ears reddened a little. “I’d like that a lot, but it seems . . . sudden, considering just a minute ago you were shocked by me just kissing you.”

“I was only shocked that you wanted to,” Phil assured him, stroking the back of Steve’s neck with his thumb. “Trust me, I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Steve grinned and kissed him again. Now that Phil wasn’t in shock, he could relax and enjoy the kiss, and enjoy it he did. Being kissed by Captain America was like his first Fourth of July—fireworks all over, lighting up his whole world.

“You really want to come back to my place?” Steve’s voice was husky.

“Why not?” Phil looked at him archly. “After all, we’ve been dating for almost a month.”

***

“Hey, Boss,” Barton said, nodding as Phil passed. “Nice to have you back.”

“Good morning. It’s nice to be back.” Phil’s smile was serene, dark glasses in place, suit impeccable. He felt sharp. God was in his heaven, Steve was in his bed, and all was right with the world. And the best part (well, perhaps not the _best_ part, but definitely the cherry on top of the sundae) was that today he had been cleared to return to work.

“You do anything fun with your time off?” Barton asked. Phil knew he was joking; Phil was famous for his workaholic ways. His colleagues probably assumed a good day at off for Phil Coulson was one where he could catch up on his paperwork and still search e-bay for Captain America collectables.

“I had a good time,” Phil said blandly. “You know, the usual; went to a ballgame or two, had dinner out, went bowling.”

“Ha, _right._ ” Clint looked skeptical. “You. _Bowling_. I bet you looked snappy in those shoes.” The other thing Phil was famous for was his taste in fashion.

Phil wasn’t ruffled. “I elevated those shoes to a whole new level.” He reached his office door, opened it, and went inside. The first thing he noticed was his inbox. It was full, but then his inbox was _always_ full.

“Yeah, right.” Clint turned away, still shaking his head. “Bowling,” he muttered as he walked away. Phil could tell the man didn’t believe he really went bowling. Well, who would believe something like that? Phil Coulson, agent extraordinaire, had cultivated a certain image, and that image did not involve bowling shoes. And if his colleagues found _that_ hard to swallow, they’d certainly never accept the fact that Captain America had tried courting him with nachos. Phil hardly believed _that_ himself.

But it was okay if no one believed it. They’d agreed to keep things professional around the office anyway—for the moment, at any rate. Phil knew it would not be long before snoopy Tony Stark figured something was up, but they’d agreed to deal with it when it came up.

Then Phil’s eyes fell on something on his desk. Curious, he switched on the lights and discovered a big bundle of flowers tied up in a ribbon. He lifted them with a smile. After a moment he said, “These are lovely. Thank you.”

“How did you know I was here?”

“You have to be on your toes if you want to get as far as I have in this business. And I admit I’ve become a little paranoid about people sneaking up behind me.” Phil turned to Captain America with a smile. Steve was standing in the doorway, wearing the suit; he looked good enough to eat. Phil admired the way the man turned his body just so—it occurred to him the man might even be showing off just a little.

Steve crossed his arms, displaying his biceps. Yes, he was definitely posing. “Doing okay?”

Phil leaned back against his desk and gave the man an appraising look. “I’m great. Are we going out tonight to celebrate my triumphant return?”

Steve’s ears reddened, and his smile was a little shy. “Yes. I’m sweeping you off to a gallery opening, then we’ll dine beside a private three-string quartet and, if you’re up for it, we’ll finish with a brief dance under the stars.”

“I’d like that. Just remember; I’m still building up my stamina.” Not that _that_ would be difficult; Steve was a considerate but very enthusiastic and unflagging lover. A few weeks of sharing Steve’s bed and Phil would be in better shape than he’d ever been in his career—hell, it was a full-body, muscle-toning, aerobic and weight-lifting regime. If Steve ever got bored with being Captain America, he could probably start a career as an all-in-one workout machine. “The doctors want me to take it easy,” Phil reminded the man.

“Okay, fair enough. Maybe we’ll skip the opening. But how did you know the flowers were from me? A lot of people are going to be giving you welcome back gifts.”

Phil’s grin broadened. “Red, white and blue flowers? Give me a little credit.”

Steve shut Phil’s office door and stepped forward. “Do you like them?” his blue eyes were earnest.

Phil slipped his arms around the man’s neck and kissed him gently. “Very much. I think you’ve finally got the hang of this romance thing,” he said.


End file.
